Sublime
by dramionejunkie
Summary: This time, she wouldn't lose to him. This time, he was wrong. And he'd regret it.


**Something I wrote today. I was in a weird mood so it turned out-- well, a bit odd. My first time writing in second person, so forgive its lack of quality. I don't mention names in there so, note that this is a Dramione fanfic. :) **

**Anyway, it's a bit dark. A bit OOC. But I hope you enjoy, anyway.**

**Dedicated to my darling, Nikki. **

The feel of his eyes are there. Just like every other day. Watching. Waiting. He's told you countless of times how weak he knows you are. But today is different. Today he was wrong. You look up and lock eyes with him even though you already know what you'll find. You can see the fury, the hell in his eyes. He's angry. Angry with you because you unsettle him. Because you're his challenge. Because he knows you're too weak.

You match every emotion in his body with your own. Asphyxiated in your own waves of wrath. And then he flinches. A movement no one but yourself could notice. And you've caught him off guard. But it's not the end. Not even close, you know it too well. His eyes regain themselves, flames licking in the confines of their cage. And you can feel his hands on you, all over you. You can feel his tongue along the line of your neck. His teeth against your sensitive flesh.

But you don't pull away. Today you have nothing to lose. And today, you'd win. His mouth forms the ghost of a smirk. His eyes are victorious. He thinks he's won. He was always jumping too fast for his own good, you thought. And for the second time that day, he was wrong.

You slide out of your seat with a swiftness even he would have to applaud. A cool rush of wind welcomes you outside the hall. You unfasten your robe as you walk and within a few strides you have lost it— a dark pool against the ground. You're walking faster and you can almost hear his footsteps behind you. If there was one thing that was yours, it was his lack of will to resist.

Your hands are at your tie, and you loosen it with a jerk, standing in your place. You listen to the rapid beats of your heart as he comes up behind you. There's a whiff of his expensive cologne, and then he's advancing, you can feel him against the length of your back. You close your eyes as his hot breath tickles your ear. You warn him. Tell him that you'll get inside him, and ruin him, but he doesn't listen.

So you do it, you turn and you wind your fingers into his shirt; it already smells of you. There's a crack as you pin him hard against the cold stone, pretending he's yours. A painting beside rattles against its support and crashes to the floor, glass cutting the ground. Perhaps he shouts out, perhaps he screams. You would never know because you swallow the shock with your mouth, you kiss him and he doesn't move. He doesn't pull away, and you keep on kissing him.

And there's no room for understanding, no room to adjust. Your tongue enters hi s un-expecting mouth like a shot of electricity. And he's already lost, you say. But you don't stop. You'd punish him for all the times he left you to be consumed by the shadows of his wake, bereaving what you let him take of you.

Your lips part, with the sound of something that could easily be mistaken as the sweet satisfactions of two lovers, but was anything but that. And you both knew it well. But with his one precious second, he does nothing. He's frozen. He does not move, he does not push you away. And then you're on him again, and your teeth sink into his lower lip. Until you taste the bittersweet copper of his blood. And your hands embed themselves into the smooth, velvet strands of his hair.

By then, he's realised his loss and his hands are the first to move. They find their way easily under your shirt, his palms caressing the milky skin of your back. Your groans meet simultaneously and soon his furiously bleeding lip is running red streaks down your neck. It was what you wanted. And you had won. But you wouldn't stop. And somehow he couldn't. And he'd regret it.

You fight for the taste of him again and the feel of his lips makes you shudder. His lip's still bleeding but you don't care. You move your tongue along the gash and a trickle of blood leaks down your mouth. And somehow he's smiling against your lips. When it fades, you feel the sting of his nails digging crescents into your back. But it feels good, and he knows it. So he wraps his tongue against yours, and he's kissing you so hard it would've hurt anyone else. But not you.

Today, nothing could hurt you. And he knew it. And he liked it too. He pulls your head back and kisses the length of your throat, hesitating just a moment over your pulse, flicking his tongue against your skin as if the thin flesh covering your jugular vein tasted just a little sweeter than all the rest. There was something about his motions that were hurried, frantic. You understood the reason—if he hesitated, he'd have to think. And at the moment, neither of you wanted to think.

He wanted to feel, to lose himself in something all-consuming, something powerful enough to block out reality and the pain and fear it would inevitably bring. Together you were explosive. Before, that had been part of the problem, but now it was the solution.

But when he popped open the buttons at the front of your shirt, he wasn't playing anymore. He was lost. You pull away, and you hear the low desperate growl from his mouth. Then realization blooms in his eyes, and he stops moving. He was lost at his own game. And he's shocked and frozen. He swallows, and you follow the movement down his neck. You take a step back and the anger, the fury leaks into his eyes like drops of coloured dye into water. He says nothing and he flings himself off the wall and storms off in the opposite direction he'd come from.

_And he'll never forgive you. But maybe now, he'll leave you alone._

**FIN.**

**A/N: Let me know what you think! If you thought anything of it at all. Good and bad reviews are both accepted. **

**Thanks for reading. **


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